Introduction

Of the 2,700,000 Americans who served in Vietnam, likely about 250,000 were gay or bisexual and approximately 4,500 of those were KIA, though no records were kept. This novel is dedicated to them, along with all the other soldiers, sailors, marines, and air force personnel who died there, or brought home the trauma.

In 1968, John Reese and Ian Alexander fall in love after barely surviving the overrunning of their firebase by the North Vietnamese. Reese is falling apart, both from PTSD and fear of exposure, while Ian supports him.

Their relationship is an open secret to their squad, some of whom accept it and others recoil. But Doc, Thumper, and Burd have more important issues: survival. Burd hides his homophobia. Doc has his own issues with religion. Thumper’s overwhelmed with combat, as well as with being a Black soldier in a white-led Army.

Just before Tet, leave is abruptly cancelled for a Phoenix mission to kidnap a village official thought to be a communist operative. In charge will be Captain Heinrick, a student of Asian culture with a traumatic secret: his Vietnamese wife and son were murdered by the VC. Heinrick changes the mission to assassination, which challenges each soldier to decide what is acceptable in war. When he strangles a prisoner, Alexander confronts him. Reese wavers between following orders and defending his lover.

Running headlong into several NVA regiments, the squad faces annihilation in a massive firefight. As they near their target, Heinrick orders a civilian killed to protect their approach. The squad must warn their base of the NVA incursion, and complete the original mission. But Ian, John, and the Captain will clash in a disastrous confrontation as the squad calls on all their skill and courage to try to escape.

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Excerpt

Chapter 3

Fort Benning

Ian checked his face in the latrine mirror and glanced at a guy strolling out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist. He quickly looked back to the mirror. All was quiet in the sleeping area of his two-story barracks. It was a Sunday, and most of his fellow soldiers were either snoring in their beds or with the chaplain at the little clapboard building the Army called the church. The First Sergeant had made a pitch at Saturday formation for everyone to go because “Chaplain’s been on my ass like a fucking tick at a picnic. Every fucking buddy will go to the goddamn church!” But church call was the last place Ian wanted to be, with what religion taught about people like him. He could get away with skipping it now he’d graduated from Ranger School and was just awaiting orders in a transit status.

He felt disoriented on a Sunday with nothing to do since all the climbing, wading through swamps and pushing his body to the max had suddenly ended. He was thrown back into a normal world of walking around in clean clothes, sleeping a full night in a bed with a mattress, watching television . . . and looking at guys again as more than fellow soldiers. Like the broad-shouldered, heavyset guy with freckles on his ass who was walking out naked from the shower.

Ian looked away. He pushed through the door and the outside air hit him with the heavy miasma of low country mugginess. The heat at 1000 smothered him and the entire sprawling behemoth military complex just outside Columbus with the suffocating steam from the devil’s own mouth. Small groups of young men in green fatigues with green ball caps strolled by on the cement walk that ran along a row of twenty identical World War II-vintage barracks. He headed up toward the main post, noticing a young blond crew cut sergeant with muscled shoulders and chest that strained against his starched uniform. Stop staring, he thought. Just look away.

A gray squirrel ran down a magnolia tree in front of him, stopped to eye him, scampered through bushes, checked him out again, then ran back up the tree. You know who I am, don’t you squirrel?

Everything at Benning was shades of green: light green shrubs, dark green grass, and Kelly-green trees. Even the barracks had green trim. In California it was more browns and tans and dry all the time. Soldiers fit right into the green scene, covered head to their canvas boots for maximum discomfort in heavy olive-drab fatigues. His armpits began to leak sweat. California had seventy-degree weather all the time. Here, the trees and the mosquitoes sweated right along with the soldiers.

The Post Exchange was the Army’s version of a retail store. A black federal maintenance worker wearing a broad brim straw hat and a khaki maintenance shirt rode by in a roaring power mower that strained up the slope of the hill. They kept the lawn neat and tidy for the families. Classes of Rangers were graduating every week with the war heating up. His mother and Petie had come to his graduation. It was so weird seeing them after all he’d learned about killing. Was he the alien, or were they?

Just then a family group of what looked like a mother, brother, and sister walked toward him, dressed in reds, yellows and whites, anything but green. They’d probably come to see their soldiers off, but the bright pastels of their clothing looked somehow shocking now.

Ian had tried to hide from his mom the details of what got transacted here, though she already knew what war was and wanted nothing to do with it. Ranger School was more like graduate study in the art of infantry warfare. This seemed like a smart idea if he was going to risk his life trying to kill people in a jungle. He glanced at his shoulder. He was proud of the Ranger tab, but it was such a scrap of cloth for so much work. Still, it meant he’d have a better chance of survival combat. He arrived at the door of the PX, and relaxed as the air con hit him.

* * *

Reese stood on the lawn outside of his barracks and ran a hand over close cropped hair. He read the letter, on pink stationary, then crumpled it. His shoulders had grown massive and his body taut from months of PT and hiking all over the swamps, rivers and forests of Georgia.

Smith, a thick-necked southern football player who’d graduated with him, came up behind. “She finally write?”

“Yep,” said Reese. “I really miss that girl. At least I miss having her up against the backseat.”

Smith laughed and put an arm around Reese’s shoulders. “Sounds like a tiger. If you don’t want her, pass her on to me.”

“That girl liked to bite. Never bored when Crystal was about.”

“I’ll bet. Damn Army gets awful tedious.” Smith found a button he’d forgotten to close and stuck it through the hole.

“Yeah, it’ll bore ya to sleep, then get so exciting you wished you never joined. Wore me out.”

“I know what you mean. I’m in better shape now than when I trained for state championships. I just get so damn horny, is all.” Smith rolled up the sleeves on his blouse, carefully, the way the Army liked you to do it. “I’m gonna’ grab a cab inta town and get me some. Wanna’ come?”

“Nah, Smithy, thank ya’. Gonna’ go up to the store and not do shit.” Reese walked away down the sidewalk, across the parade ground, through the lawn obstacle course, and up the path to the Post Exchange, which was housed in a generic brick warehouse. Why couldn’t the Army make a civilian store look like a real one? He threw the balled-up letter in the trash near the door and walked in.

At the electronics aisle, he checked out turntables. He examined a tape recorder the size of a carton of cigarettes, popped the cover, snapped it closed and hit Play. He watched the tiny reel to reel hubs rotating.

“That’s a good idea,” the voice came from behind Reese. “I should get that to send tapes back home from Vietnam.”

Reese spun around, embarrassed at the sudden attention. A long, gangly soldier grinned at him, wiry, a bit feminine, with sandy hair barely visible from the close cut. He had strange, iridescent blue eyes, too good-looking for a man. Reese didn’t answer, just turned back to the display.

Ian stuck out his hand. “Ian Alexander, nice to know you. Good to meet another Ranger.”

Reese waved the tape machine, uncertain; then glanced at his own Ranger tab, as if the guy was talking about someone else. “Yeah,” he said. He shook Ian’s hand and quickly dropped it; yet he kept his eyes on him. Actually, he couldn’t seem to look away. “Haven’t seen you around.”

Ian missed Reese’s hand as soon as the other man pulled it away. He didn’t want to let go. The touch was like a current of cool water flowing down into the middle of his stomach. Something about his strength, the thick heavy hair and. . . what else? Was it gentleness?

“Um, we were in different classes, I guess.” Ian felt breathless.

Reese nodded, held up the machine again. “Better go pay.” He turned to leave, but Ian put a hand on his arm.

“Wanna’ grab a beer at the club?” Ian heard himself say as his mind went on overdrive. What on earth am I doing? I’m in the Army.

“Ah, ah, I better not,” the guy said, but his eyes were saying something else.

“Why not, cycle’s over, we’re shipping out. Might as well celebrate.” It was like some genie had jumped out of his gut and was taking over. He’d never been so forward, not even with PJ.

The other Ranger looked amused. He glanced at the recorder, then at Ian, nodded, and smiled. “Why the hell not.”

Ian felt as if his body was sliding toward the man. He realized he’d reached the maximum of polite looking and for distraction picked up another recorder just like it. They walked to the checkout past a wall of twenty-five-inch color Sonys with identical peacocks on every screen with a rainbow of colors for tail feathers. Ian was glowing, his heart racing.

* * *

The dimly-lit enlisted mens’ club reeked of cigarette smoke and beer. Ian walked to the side of a polished oak bar where two girls in heavy makeup and miniskirts sat sipping tall beers. Reese turned to check out the one with dynamite legs in a pink leather miniskirt stretched tight over her butt. Ian found an empty high-back booth in red leatherette with gold fabric tacks making ornate triangles. The crystal lights on the table completed the look some senior sergeant in charge likely considered perfect décor for soldiers. Whorehouse décor in Christian Georgia, he mused, that describes the Army to a tee. He smiled at the thought.

The waitress brought a pitcher and the two boys sat talking, drinking one beer after another. The more they drank, the more Reese opened up. “Nah, I wasn’t all that hot on joining up but I wouldn’t let down my father or . . . mother,” he said as he downed half a mug and left a bit of foam on his face.

“My mom raised me,” said Ian as he studied how Reese’s lips touched the glass when he drank, how his tongue deftly removed foam on his upper lip. He resisted reaching over with a finger and wiping it off.

A cloud fell across Reese’s earnest expression. “My mom would have loved seeing me in uniform.”

Ian woke from his trance. “Didn’t she get to your graduation?”

Reese’s face shut down and he stared into his beer.

After a minute, “You okay?” Ian ventured.

“Yah. The leukemia killed her long ago. Damn farm chemicals made lots of people sick in my town.” Reese’s face flushed. “Big corporations pushed poison on us.” He looked away like he might throw the glass.

“That’s horrible.” Ian almost touched the big man’s hand but thought better of it. I won’t push it.

He suddenly got hard under the table and shifted in his seat. Why can’t I just be his friend? Ranger buddies and all. The guy was straight. I’ve seen this movie before. Yet he was so sick of hearing men yelling at each other, complaining about snoring, asking to borrow stuff, bragging about getting laid. He wanted something else. Could this be it? “Looks like we’re going to war, doesn’t it?”

Reese took a breath and relaxed. “Yep, that’s what training’s about.” He took a gulp of beer and burped.

“I mean, have you thought about it? We’re going to be bayoneting guys our age, in a foreign country. They could have been our buddies in school.”

“I never seen a Vietnamese in Kansas.”

“I mean, it’s going to change everything, to actually kill someone.”? “Yep, I ‘spect it will, but all your thinkin’ and talkin’ about it won’t keep it from happenin.’ ”

“I just needed to say it.”

Reese wiped his mouth with his sleeve and shook his head. “You just like to talk.”

Ian felt a stab of hurt. There was a long silence.

“You do jump training?” asked Reese.

Ian looked up blurry-eyed. “Nah, I loathe airplanes; for sure, don’t want to jump out of one.”

Reese nodded. “Well, you gonna’ get a shit lot of flying in them Hueys.”

A cold tension clinched Ian’s stomach. He gulped down half a glass of beer and poured more from a pitcher. “You’re from Kansas?”

“My daddy and I work corn.”

“Hard work, I bet.”

“Ain’t nothing compared to Ranger School. Marching, marching, marching in the damn sun. Goddamn Army jungle boots chew up my feet. Eating bugs for food during POW training. Bull shit.”

Ian wanted to say something kind but he was so drunk the words didn’t come out right. “I’m sorry. ‘Bout the boots I mean.” In the silence he studied Reese. Soft brown eyes, his calm talk about going to Vietnam. “Anyway, I’m headed for I Corps near the DMZ.” He tried to push the erection aside in his pants.

“Saigon for me,” said Reese. “Fast reaction force or something like that.”

“That’s a long way from I Corps.” The more he looked into those eyes across the table, the more he got hard, poking a tent against his fatigue pants.

An hour passed and Reese emptied the last glass of the third pitcher into Ian’s mug. The two empties sat off to the side, tributes to their letting go. Ian leaned forward with his chin on the table, shit-faced, peering up. “I don’t even know your name?”

“John, Johnny Reese,” said Reese, slurring and looking buzzed. “You’re a lightweight, Ian Alexander.”

“I been trying to put on size.”

“No, not that. You look fine. I mean . . . never mind.” Reese abruptly changed the subject. “This club’s great. The Army got it just right: babes, booze and brothers in arms. I mean brothers. I mean– ”

“Well, Johnny.” Ian slurred and smiled into Reese’s face, then closed his eyes like he wanted to sleep.

“We best get you back to your barracks, Mr. Ian.”

Ian’s eyes popped open. “No, no I’m fine…”

He began to list to starboard. Reese plopped a bill on the table next to the check and sat a mug on top of it. He stood and circled one long arm under Ian’s armpit and dragged him out of the booth, then to standing. With the other hand he grabbed the shopping bag containing the tape recorders. The waitress picked up the check and cash, and raised her eyebrows at them. Reese waved a jaunty goodbye and maneuvered Ian slowly to the door as the two maidens at the bar turned to watch. He nodded at them and smiled. They laughed and went back to their beer.

As they walked out into bright sunlight, Ian put up his hand to shield his face. “Where we goin,’ big strong man?”

Startled, Reese looked around to see if anyone had heard. “Holy shit. What am I getting into? Well, I’ll just get you home like a good buddy.”

“I’m your buddy?” Ian gave him a sublime smile. “You are so huge,” he whispered in a sleepy voice, as he looked at Reese’s arm holding him. He restrained himself from licking Reese’s furry forearm or burying his head in his chest.

Reese wrapped a hand around Ian’s mouth. “Jesus! Just shut up, will you?”

Ian playfully pulled Reese’s hand away and started giggling. “PJ says I can never stop talking. Talk, talk, talk.”

“Who’s PJ? Listen, we just got to get you home. Where’s your barracks?”

“There.” Ian pointed up to the sky and gave him a big sloppy grin.

“Jesus,” muttered Reese again. A few warm drops of rain tapped on his cap. Then the sky opened in a downpour, soaking their heavily-starched fatigue shirts a deep black.

“I’m getting wet,” Ian giggled and clung to Reese’s neck. “Where we going?”

Reese dragged Ian along the path and when Ian’s knees buckled, Reese hefted him over his shoulder.

The command sergeant major, in civvies and a ball cap, emerged from his office across the street. Reese hung a hard right between two buildings and staggered winded into his own barracks with Ian.

“That’s one perk of being a corporal. I got a single room, thank God.” He pulled Ian over to his metal rack. He laid the boy down on top of a thin mattress covered in a green wool blanket with a black US. He sat next to him and studied his face while he slept. “You look so innocent, but there ain’t nothing innocent about all this.” His eyes drifted down to Ian’s fly. “No. I can’t be even thinking about doing this.”

“Doin’ what?” said Ian, smiling and rubbing his hardness through his pants. Suddenly he was asleep.

“No, no, no! You’re not sleeping here.” Reese looked around frantically.

Ian jolted back into consciousness. “Where am I? What?” He sat up and threw his arms around Reese’s neck.

Reese pulled back immediately, then relaxed and allowed Ian to hug him. Finally he removed Ian’s arms and placed them by his new friend’s side, then patted his cheek. “You’re home now, Alexander. Sleep it off.” He saw he’d left the door ajar behind them and reached out with one long leg to shut it. Shit, what have I done?

He leaned down and kissed Ian lightly on the cheek. Then sighed, peeled off his heavy, sodden fatigue shirt, threw it over the desk, and smiled like he had won the league championship.

* * *

Two flags stood at attention in the corner of First Sergeant Alejandro Gomez’s lime green office, while photos of previous Ranger classes stood in straight lines across the wall. A faded poster of a platoon leader yelling, “Follow me!” had been neatly stapled to the adjoining wall. All the military regalia crowded in on Ian as he held himself at attention in front of the First Sergeant’s desk. The 50-year-old Hispanic noncom, lean, perfectly fit, with a slightly graying crew cut, sat looking Ian up and down, then slipped around from behind his desk and stuck out a hand. “We’re proud of you, son; number one in your class of snake eaters! You got your choice of duty stations—as long as it’s Vietnam. Ha, ha. I hear you’re headed for I Corps, up near the DMZ. It’s hot up there and you know I don’t mean the weather.”

Ian smiled, nodded and licked dry lips; he’d been practicing for this moment. Will Gomez suspect? Maybe he’d ferreted me out from some mysterious source. They seemed to know about stuff before I do. Don’t drop your guard. Keep it short, for God’s sake. “First Sergeant, permission to make a request.”

The older man frowned and pointed to a chair. “Ok, shoot.”

A line of sweat made its way inexorably down Ian’s back into his ass crack, as he settled on the edge of a gray steel government chair. “I heard buddies can request to serve together.”

“Well, sometimes.” Gomez scratched something uncomfortable near his nose, then stopped himself. “Who?”

“Reese, Corporal John Reese.”

“Hmm, never heard of him. Why him? Y'all know each other before enlistment?”

Ian had rehearsed for this inquiry. “No, First Sergeant, we became friends here. He’s a guy I think I can rely on in a fight.”

“That’s important.” Gomez cocked his head, as if something wasn’t adding up, then smiled. “Okay. Reese? I’ll see what I can do.” view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

From the author:

1. Should LGBTQ people, men and women, serve in direct combat roles during war?

2. Did Alexander and Reese's love for each other weaken the squad or strengthen it to complete it's mission?

3. Did Reese's sexual orientation and society's attitudes contribute to his PTSD? 4. Do you think Captain Heinrick's sexuality played any part in his decisionmaking and the way he commanded the squad? What was his sexual orientation?

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